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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25476601">sleeping p(oetry)ills</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizard_brains/pseuds/lizard_brains'>lizard_brains</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Centricide (Webseries)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Insomnia, M/M, Russian poetry, but let's admit nobody who clicks on this wants to read it as platonic, could be read as platonic, hurt/comfort kinda, nazi has gay thoughts (trademark), soft, yep this is infected with my russian history brainrot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:16:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,708</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25476601</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizard_brains/pseuds/lizard_brains</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>James cannot sleep. Joseph just wants his roommate to stop bumping into shit every morning.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>authunity, nazi/commie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>sleeping p(oetry)ills</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i used the headcanon names so joseph = tankie, james = nazi</p>
<p>basically authunity but soft(er)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The darkness has been oppressing James for the third night now, the shadows weighing down on his eyelids yet keeping his consciousness hostage, not letting him slip away into slumber. He lay on his back, staring into the ceiling. He never realized how much thoughts he has until he got to be awake alone with them for more than 24 hours. Bad memories and existential dilemmas haunted him, and he wanted to cry but all his tears have been spilled out onto his pillow hours ago, his organism now drenched of water completely. He laid on his back in complete and utter defeat, not fighting back the wave of exhaustion that swallowed him whole.</p>
<p>The sky outside was painted a slightly lighter hue now, meaning morning was approaching. James would guess it was about 5 or so am, and he contemplated getting out of bed. On one hand he was definitely not getting any sleep tonight, on the other he was too tired to force his body to leave the four walls he trapped himself in. He also remembered about his… housemate, who would surely question why he was awake at such an early time. The damned communist would absolutely be up at an ungodly hour of the morning, and there’s no way in hell he’d mind his own business.</p>
<p>He always tried to coddle James, take care of him, make sure he ate properly, make sure he took his meds (which technically weren’t officially prescribed but both of them ignored that). He hated that, mostly because he hated the weird feeling in his stomach he got whenever he thought about Joseph’s genuinely concerned face looking down onto the mess of a man that made up James, his calloused, rough hands ready to help. He usually pushed those thoughts far away into the back of his mind, but the insomnia broke down all the barriers in his mind, so he just sat up and let the confusing feelings wash over him. He didn’t have the brainpower to think about what they meant anyway.</p>
<p>He winced and got up on his feet, barely registering his surroundings as he stumbled out of his room. Fuck it, fuck his insomnia, and fuck Joseph if he asks what’s wrong. He was tired, and he was very ready to shoot down any attempt at a conversation anyone tried to form. James slithered down the stairs, relying way too much on the railing to keep him upright, and took confident strides into the kitchen as—</p>
<p>“Comrade, what are you doing up this early?”</p>
<p>Shit.</p>
<p>Two strong hands came down on his shoulders and yanked him, keeping him from walking into a kitchen counter like an idiot. James found himself face to face with Joseph, the communist’s face plastered with that stupid caring frown. Before the shorter man could scrunch up his nose and shoot back a venomous comeback his chin was gently grabbed, and he found himself under the examining eye of Tankie.</p>
<p>“Have you been taking your medication?” he asked, accent thickly sliding off his tongue.</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Liar.</p>
<p>“You look very tired.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, no shit,” James grimaced even more, but didn’t shake away the hand still firmly placed on his chin. Something about being held like that mesmerized him, his entire body frozen by a simple gesture. It was probably the lack of sleep. Possibly also the feeling of being under the full control of another man, who also currently looked at him like he actually cared, like his pathetic antics were actually important, as if he— wait, no. Shut up. It’s <em>not</em> that. Surely not. It’s <em>only</em> the lack of sleep.</p>
<p>“How many hours of sleep did you get today?”</p>
<p>“More than you,” lied again. His smooth voice was completely absent, instead replaced with a raspy attempt at snark. “You know you like to talk like you’re the “healthy and strong proletarian”, yet you’re the one who drinks himself into oblivion late at night like some sort of useless degenerate who—"</p>
<p>He was cut off by the hand on his chin moving up and running through his tangled hair, Tankie’s eyes displaying calm sympathy, which made James’ insides turn and tangle together like a tumbleweed. He hated it.</p>
<p>“You haven’t slept well in some time, have you?” Joseph’s voice was soft and soothing as he reassuringly squeezed the other’s shoulder. “Is that why you’ve been so grouchy lately?”</p>
<p>James hated to be described as “grouchy”, but he wasn’t so sure he could pull off another lie with all the evidence pointing against him. He lowered his head in defeat, and the communist took that as a “yes”.</p>
<p>He didn’t even notice as he was led and sat down on the couch, staring blankly as a blanket was thrown over his shoulders. He was gently pushed down into a lying position, his head on the armrest. He was too tired to protest, so he just accepted his fate and tried not to think about how comforted this all made him feel, and how disgusted with himself that softness made him.</p>
<p>“What do you usually do when you can’t sleep?” Tankie asked, leaning near James’ face.</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” the response had too much played up irritation to sound natural.</p>
<p>“Well, some people listen to white noise or calming music, some count sheep, some drink herbal teas. What do you do?”</p>
<p>“Nothing?” he was stumped. “Just stare at the ceiling, I guess.”</p>
<p>Different expressions of concern flashed on Joseph’s face, which pissed James off, but neither commented further.</p>
<p>“Okay, then… what about when you were younger? Like, when you were a child?”</p>
<p>He hated remembering his childhood, his memories so suppressed in his mind most of the time it gave him a headache to get jerked back into the past like this. It gave him déjà vu to a couple hours ago, when he was also laying down, helpless against a strong current of past traumas and unpleasant recollections of his parents. The only difference was that now there was another person standing beside him and closely watching his eyes begin to water.</p>
<p>“My mom used to read to me before bed,” he mumbled almost inaudibly, but the communist heard.</p>
<p>He silently walked away, letting James wipe away his tears and restore his breath without being seen. Joseph came back with a book. It looked too thin to be one of his countless communist theories, but you never know with these degenerates.</p>
<p>“If you’re just going to preach your cultural marxist bullshit to me I don’t want it,” the fascist hissed through his teeth.  </p>
<p>“I’m not,” Tankie assured, sitting down on the couch near James’ legs. “It’s a couple of russian poems, actually. It’s Vladimir Mayakovsky. He has a nice rhythm to his writing, I thought it’d be pretty relaxing even if you don’t understand it.”</p>
<p>James mumbled a “whatever” and closed his eyes, which Joseph took as his cue to begin reading. The russian tongue flooded the smaller man’s ears, all the words completely incomprehensible, forcing him to appreciate the rough sound of the language.</p>
<p>
  <em>“В сто сорок солнц закат пылал,<br/>в июль катилось лето,<br/>была жара,<br/>жара плыла -<br/>на даче было это.”</em>
</p>
<p>James focused on the words as if they were white noise, a good enough distraction for his thoughts to calm down but not something he had to actually understand. Just something that was there for him to listen to as his eyelids got heavy, but in a good way this time. Heavy like the pressure of a warm blanket on top of you, like a tray of hot food on your lap, like a steady hand tangled in your hair. Huh. He didn’t have enough consciousness left to assess his train of thoughts.</p>
<p>
  <em>“И так однажды разозлясь,<br/>что в страхе все поблекло,<br/>в упор я крикнул солнцу:<br/>‘Слазь!<br/>довольно шляться в пекло!’<br/>Я крикнул солнцу:<br/>‘Дармоед!<br/>занежен в облака ты,<br/>а тут - не знай ни зим, ни лет,<br/>сиди, рисуй плакаты!’”</em>
</p>
<p>Tankie was really putting emotion into his reading, as if the other would understand anything anyway. It was nice, though, having something Joseph was probably genuinely passionate about shared with him. There was a vulnerability in that, the type that James would never allow himself, which made it all the more admirable. The fascist had a habit of admiring figures that were braver than him. Not like it was hard to be braver than him, though.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Слеза из глаз у самого -<br/>жара с ума сводила,<br/>но я ему -<br/>на самовар:<br/>‘Ну что ж,<br/>садись, светило!’<br/>Черт дернул дерзости мои<br/>орать ему,-<br/>сконфужен,<br/>я сел на уголок скамьи,<br/>боюсь - не вышло б хуже!”</em>
</p>
<p>James didn’t want to cry anymore. He was too tired to, now, but tired in the quenchable way. He couldn’t help but be relieved at that. After three exhausting days he could finally have his rest, he could finally pass out for a few hours and exist in a realm in which he didn’t need to think. He could finally wake up afterwards and properly berate Commie for being a degenerate leftist. He could go back to normal. His thoughts floated in the desired future and he completely missed the irony of thinking all of that while being curled up on a couch and being read to sleep by the roommate he supposedly hated.</p>
<p>
  <em>“А солнце тоже:<br/>‘Ты да я,<br/>нас, товарищ, двое!<br/>Пойдем, поэт,<br/>взорим,<br/>вспоем<br/>у мира в сером хламе.<br/>Я буду солнце лить свое,<br/>а ты - свое,<br/>стихами’.”</em>
</p>
<p>His alertness was gone now, and he was completely lulled to sleep by the fervent words coming out of Joseph’s mouth. The last bit of his mind that still kept in touch with reality got caught up on the r’s, floating in the sea of well pronounced letters that created nothing of value, instead arbitrarily chosen to interpreted as a lullaby, and floated down into the void of slumber.</p>
<p>
  <em>Светить всегда,<br/>светить везде,<br/>до дней последних донца,<br/>светить -<br/>и никаких гвоздей!<br/>Вот лозунг мой<br/>и солнца!</em>
</p>
<p>The sound of the softly closed book. An even softer series of footsteps. A kiss on the forehead and a light tug on his blanket was the last sensation James felt before letting the world of dreams claim him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>here's a reading of the poem tankie was reading:</p>
<p>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FSNAViyyjyw</p>
<p>mayakovsky's actually pretty based, he's one of the cultural icons of the early soviet union, and along poetry he also made some really cool posters (including some for the revolution), i like him a lot</p>
<p>the poem i used here doesn't have much of a deeper meaning, it's a story about the poet getting mad at the sun and the sun coming over  to him and them becoming friends and the conclusion being that both the sun and the poet work to light the world up, the sun literally and the poet with his poems (yes russian poetry is weird don't question it).</p>
<p>sorry for da infodump i'm just nostalgic.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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